Centipede Tongue

It was dark.

The dirt was cold & the coffin was falling apart.

The worms haven't left me,

staying, gorging themselves on all you left me to be.

They touch me like you.

They writhe to give me a form.

A veil of spiders I see through like a prism in a living storm.

They gave me a centipede for a tongue & I swear it screams your name more than I ever did.

I'm more skin than I have ever been your marked sin.

Bones hollow, spared of marrow.

Legs tap in the thousands, the song I repeat, that which I succumbed.

It was dark.

The blood was hot, warming from the inside of my glutinous flood.

You never truly left me,

Remained cold, eyes blue like the sky amongst the coagulated sea.

You still call me at 2 a.m.

Scream from a mouth I've stuffed shut, about what I was & what I would become.

You made me dance with you in the fading daylight.

Though you couldn't tell through the black out curtains I drew right.

Her rotting lips used to give me anxiety.

Filled my heart with flies, they tasted like lies and the person who I ever wanted to be.

You were lonely, fucked me and said you hate my face.

I was sick, mentally; gritting my teeth through your first knuckle simply to embase.

Still perfect after the hundredth perforation.

I was hideous before the knife met me, no better when you left me graven.

It was dark,

it was the best part.

I followed you down

.

mud, blood, writhing worms to mix us together.

You gave me a form.

Veiled me, covered me from the mental storm.

You gave me a centipede tongue that doesn't even know my name anymore.

Photo by Marcus Lange on unsplash and slightly edited by me.